


(Welcome) Intrusions

by Somedrunkpirate



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ari and Arthur being bro's, Cats, Fluff, Friendship, Get Together, M/M, Oh and ice cream, That's the whole plot really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 04:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10914747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somedrunkpirate/pseuds/Somedrunkpirate
Summary: A five part series of events that take place in Ariadne's apartment to such an extent that you can thank the furniture for getting Arthur and Eames together. (Especially the bed)+ One part where Ariadne intrudes upon the happy couple.





	(Welcome) Intrusions

**Author's Note:**

> Hello world! 
> 
> One more final to go! Thursday = Politics. 
> 
> For those interested: it's been going well, so I'm hoping to continue that streak until the last one. This fic has been one of my creative companions through the process of not letting finals kill me to death. Writing Arthur and Ari being friends has been so much fun, so you can expect some more eventually. 
> 
> Hope you like it!

 

I

Arthur knocks on the rickety green door after double checking the apartment number, and steps back surprised when the door opens on the slight tap of his fist.

“Arthur!” Ariadne calls out from somewhere above him. Arthur looks up and sees Ariadne waving to him out of a window from the second floor.

“The door is broken! Come inside, straight up the stairs!” she yells, smiling brightly.

“Ari! You don’t have a fucking lock!” Arthur yells back.

“Tell the whole street will you? Up now! Lecture later!” Ariadne disappears back inside and Arthur sighs, pushing open the door – it looks like it will fall apart any second – and stepping inside. He closes the door behind him, but gives up when it continues to bounce out of the doorframe no matter how hard he shuts it.

Ariadne opens the door to her apartment just as Arthur reaches the top of the stairs. “Mi casa, su casa,” she smiles.

“Ari, you should have a lock,” Arthur starts seriously. Ariadne rolls his eyes and pushes him inside.

“–dangerous, safety protocols!” Arthur tries to say while Ariadne hums and manhandles him to the living room.

“Yes, I know, it’s on the priority list. Look there, I wrote it down for you,” she says pointing at a post-it on the wall, where indeed _Get a lock. Love, Arthur_ is written down, with an unnecessary amount of hearts.

Arthur rolls his eyes at her. “I’m predictable, is that what you're saying?”

“You’re the biggest mother hen I’ve had the pleasure of meeting, that’s what I’m saying,” Ariadne replies. “Now, coffee or tea?”

“Coffee, and you know that we actually work in a field where the possibility that thugs with _guns_ come in our houses and kill us is higher than average right? Actually, a fairly regular occurrence?” Arthur says as he follows her down to the kitchen, dodging moving boxes and a cat along the way.

“Only when your pointman doesn’t cover his tracks well, and as I work almost exclusively with you, I have not found that to be a problem,” Ariadne shoots back.

“I’m not the only one that can make a mistake, Ari,” Arthur sighs, leaning against the wooden dinner table in the corner of the kitchen.

Ariadne switches the coffee machine on and turns around to look at Arthur. “I know, I’m just teasing you. I’ve already called a guy to fix the door and put a lock on it, but I wanted to ask your advice about other security measures.”

Arthur nods, satisfied. “What do you want to know?”

“Options, pro’s and con’s, etcetera,” Ariadne says finishes making the coffee. Arthur takes a cup and they sit down at the table. “This is going to be my main place. I’m not like you guys, living everywhere and nowhere at once. I need a home somewhere.”

Arthur hums before taking a sip of his coffee, burning his lips slightly.

“So I’ll need everything to make this place safe, preferably non-existent, except for a few chosen ones that know about it.”

“So I’m the chosen one now?” Arthur asks, “What do I need to do, defeat Voldemort?”

“I knew you would catch up eventually,” Ariadne smiles, brightly.

“I only read them so you would quit nagging me about it,” Arthur grumbles.

Ariadne laughs. “ _Nagging_. I see that they left an impression on you. You’re so painfully American, you need a fuckton of Britishisms thrown over you until they stick.”

Arthur looks away, smiling slightly.

Ariadne leans forward. “Something tells me we’re not talking about the books anymore.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Arthur says.

Ariadne gasps dramatically. Arthur rolls his eyes.

“You’re blushing. Who are you and what have you done to Arthur?” Ariadne asks. “He looks just like you but he would never look away blushing like a smitten teen.”

Arthur coughs while trying to drink his coffee.

“Arthur, what are you not telling me?” Ariadne asks.

Arthur meets her eyes but doesn’t say anything, his lips stubbornly pressed together.

“Oh, this is how we're going to play it?” Ariadne asks. She downs her remaining coffee, puts her cup down with a bang and places her chin on her hands, leaning over the table like an overenthusiastic child.

Arthur represses his laughter and refuses to say anything.

Ariadne snorts. “You don’t need to say anything, I know already. I’m all-knowing like that.”

“Sure you do,” Arthur can’t help but reply, raising his eyebrows at Ariadne, who is smiling like the cheshire cat and/or a normal cat that caught at least two mice.

“It’s Eames, isn’t it?”

Arthur smiles and looks away again.

“It is!” Ariadne exclaims. “You two finally got your heads out of your asses, and got _in_ each others asses?”

Arthur gapes at Ariadne, who is smiling possibly more smugly than before.

“You two were obvious from the start,” Ariadne says, leaning back.

“Well, for us, it certainly wasn’t,” Arthur mumbles.

“Yeah, because you two are idiots, you deserve each other. I get to be the bridesmaid for the both of you, you hear me?” Ariadne says sternly as she gathers up the cups.

“Don’t be so hasty, it’s not like that yet, or ever will be. He doesn’t even know–” Arthur stops himself just in time.

“You didn’t tell him?” Ariadne asks easily, like Arthur had finished his sentence after all.

“It’s not something you say on a first date,” Arthur says pointedly.

“You don’t do dates. You go all in. You’re being a coward,” Ariadne says, returning with a teapot and two new cups. They both have cats patterned all over them.

Arthur frowns at Ariadne. “Ow.”

“Oh no, I have the right. I’ve heard enough lamenting over sinful british lips and the possibilities of Eamesian futures to lecture you on this. You tell him. Communication is important. You always say that to us.”

“I say that about _jobs,”_ Arthur says.

“Tomayto, tomahto. Relationships are similar to jobs, Mister. Same collaboration principles,” Ariadne says before taking a gulp of her tea. Arthur follows suit.

“I’m not sure if it’s a relationship just yet,” Arthur says honestly, after a companionable silence.

Ariadne’s cat, Apollo, has climbed on Ariadne's lap and now the both of them are staring at him with judging eyes.

Arthur sighs. “I’ll talk to him about it.”

“Good boy,” Ariadne smiles proudly. “With that out of the way– about that security system...”

 

II

Adriane wakes up to Apollo meowing loudly.

She slides out of bed silently, grabbing her gun from her bedside drawer. She unlocks her phone to check her security system. It’s turned off. _Fuck_. With her phone in her pajama pocket, she inches toward the door, her gun close and ready, like Arthur taught her.

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes for a millisecond, trying to tame her stuttering heart. _Here we go. Show time._

The moment she steps forward, her bedroom door is slammed open. Ariadne steps back and aims, sure and ready. Then she sees the intruder in the slight moonlight from the window.

“Arthur!” Ariadne exclaims, lowering her gun in reflex.

“I’m sorry– to intrude, like this,” Arthur says between heaving breaths. He looks hunted, like he’s been running three marathons with zombies on his heels.

“Good aim, though,” he adds with a wry smile.

“Yeah, I got you to thank for that,” Ariadne says as she puts away the gun. “You turned off the system?”

“Yes, I did. We need to lay low. I lost them a city ago, but just to be sure,” Arthur replies, walking to the window and closing the curtains quickly.

“Them? Arthur, what’s going on?” Ariadne asks while she follows him, turning on a bedside light so she can see him better.

Arthur grimaces at her question, pained. Only now Ariadne sees the bruises on his skin. He has a black eye and bleeding knuckles. She steps closer, lays a comforting hand on Arthur’s arm. He’s trembling. Ariadne bites her lip.

“Arthur?” she says quietly, not quite sure to handle this Arthur, stressed and _scared._

Arthur takes another deep breath, and finally meets Ariadne's eyes _._ She almost flinches from the emotion in them, the desperation.

“It’s Eames,” Arthur says. “They took him.”

\--

They save him.

After three tortuous days, they find him bloody and battered, but still smiling.

Those who took him are not alive anymore. Ariadne and Arthur shared that task gladly. Three thugs each.

Arthur and Eames _finally_ tell each other. In hushed whispers in the back of the car while Ariadne drives them to the hospital. They came so close to losing him.

And Ariadne, she adopts another cat.

 

III

"You have a _key_?" Eames exclaims when Arthur magics said key from a mysteriously hidden pocket in his coat.

"Are you jealous?" Arthur asks.

The lock clicks open and Eames crowds Arthur against the door. "Always," he growls into Arthur's ear before biting his earlobe.

Arthur chuckles as he pushes Eames away.

"Good," he says, eyes twinkling, and he pulls Eames inside. They lose their clothes left and right, littering the stairs, hallway, and living room with only quick stops for a breath or a kiss. It’s when Eames pushes a butt-naked Arthur on the bed, Arthur suddenly protests.

"Eames, we can't fuck right now," he says, not very convincingly, as he looks up at Eames flushed and breathing heavily.

"Darling, you say the most silly things," Eames murmurs onto Arthur’s lips, leaning over him and pinning him down.

"This is _her_ bed. I can't have sex on someone else's bed," Arthur argues as Eames releases him and slowly makes his way down, kissing and sucking on every inch of skin he can get his mouth on.

"Would the floor be better? The sofa? Kitchen counter?" Eames teases, biting at Arthur’s thighs, making Arthur jump and swear.

"Okay, fuck. Get on with it. But we will clean extensively tomorrow," Arthur finally groans.

"Not if we make sure there is no mess, love," Eames says before licking his lips. He huffs a breath against Arthur's cock, and smirks when Arthur's hips twitch involuntarily towards him. "I'll keep you nice and clean, darling." Eames can hear Arthur trying to snark back, but it doesn't take long before he's choking back a low moan and gives up on speaking all together. Eames hums, satisfied, and refocuses on his task.

\--

_Arthur. please tell me you guys cleaned up after yourselves_

_How did you know?_

_tell eames he can pick up his turquoise shirt sometime_

_Ah._

_I'm sorry?_ _I’ll pick it up next month._

_you have not one single ounce of regret i know how it is  
_ _...this might be a good time to mention that i threw away a set of your sheets for similar reasons_

_Ariadne!_

_what goes around comes around (pun intended)_

 

IV

“Strawberry or chocolate?” Ariadne yells from her kitchen, now hidden from view by a curtain made of little beads, patterned with roses. It took her almost year, but the apartment is finally starting to look lived in and decorated.

“No preference,” Arthur yells back from the couch, weighted down by not one, but two cats.

One is sitting perfectly still on his lap, as if his knees are a throne on which only a king can reside. Apollo is cuddled up next to him, with her fluffy belly seductively shown off. But Arthur has been tricked before and does not give in to the urge of petting that belly; he’d like for his hand to be intact. The lap-cat’s name eludes him; he’s a fairly new addition, and it’s been a few months since he’s been here last. He pets the cat anyway.

“How can someone have no preference in _ice cream_ ,” Ariadne says, pronouncing the last words as if they hold the holy grace and the meaning of life. She walks into her living room with two big tubs of chocolate and strawberry ice cream. She passes the strawberry to Arthur, with a spoon. Arthur carefully takes the objects, trying to prevent disturbing the cats.

“Zeus really adores you,” Ariadne says, nodding to the big white cat on Arthur's lap. She flops down on a oversized armchair opposite of him, crossing her legs before digging into her chocolate ice cream with great relish.

Arthur opens up his tub, and Zeus digs his nails into Arthur’s knees at the slight movement.

Arthur raises an eyebrow at Ariadne. “Claiming me counts as adoration?”

“It does,” Ariadne says around a mouth full of chocolate. “Don’t mind him, eat your ice cream.”

Arthur obeys and they enjoy their late – or early depending on one’s perspective – dessert in a companionable silence, accompanied by the purring from the cats and the late night street noises outside.

Ariadne is done before Arthur, who, instead of inhaling the ice cream, eats with appropriately-sized bites. After she’s put her stuff away on a side table, she looks at Arthur with a gleam in her eye.

“So, you barge in here around 4 am, which you normally do only do in emergencies. You say it isn’t an emergency and also have no bullet holes in your body, or knives stuck in your side, so it might not be. But you only come here this late when there _is_ an emergency. So, what’s wrong?”

“You’re nosy,” Arthur says and purposefully puts another spoon of ice cream in his mouth.

“Hey, you’re the one who came in here _not bleeding_ so I have the right to psychologically flay you. If you wanted a non-nosy me, don’t wake me up this late. Early. Whatever,” Ariadne says, waving away the complexities of time and language with a smile. A hungry smile. It might have been a mistake to come here.

But Arthur knows that it actually isn’t. Far from it.

There is a certain pattern in how Arthur barges into Ariadne’s apartment. Arthur drops by early, normally, 8am. To drink coffee and talk about everything and anything, whenever he’s nearby. Or to talk about a job coming up they’ll both work at. Or just to watch a movie, a morning movie, just to distract from the stress of their day-jobs, sometimes.

But when he comes in the night, it means there is an emergency, a situation.

This time, however, the situation has no guns blazing or emergency care related solutions.

The solution lies closer to ice cream and cats, which is exactly why he’s here.

“You have the sad frown. There is a whole language of frowns you have, but now you’re wearing the sad one. Why?” Ariadne says, shaking Arthur out of his thoughts.

“It might be because I’m sad,” Arthur says honestly.

Ariadne's eyes widen. “That is an emergency. Do we need alcohol?”

Arthur chuckles and shakes his head. “No, the ice cream helps enough, as do the cats.” He scratches Zeus underneath his chin and it pushes his little head in Arthur’s hand. Something about the soft _mrauw_ and the innocent affection so freely given cuts into Arthur’s messy emotional state. He smiles, but inside, he wants nothing more than to cuddle into the sofa, close his eyes, and just not think for a second.

“Arthur,” Ariadne says, there is a soft seriousness in her voice now. Arthur senses that she is slowly realising that he _really_ is not feeling great, and from that deduces that only one person can have this effect on him.

Arthur looks up and instead of pity, her face is hard and focused. “What did Eames do?”

Arthur looks away, at his feet, at the ground. “He left.”

There is a pause. And then.

“We need more ice cream. And booze, we need a lot of booze.”

Through the heavy sadness and bone deep tired that is Arthur’s emotional state at the moment, he still finds a true smile. He’s grateful to have a friend like Ari when he needs one.

Three bottles of wine later, they have relocated to Adriane’s bed, with the cats between them and sharing the second bag of chips of the night.

“Are you going to fess up or do we need to watch some Mean Girls first?” Ariadne asks, stealing the last piece of chips from the bag.

Arthur weighs his options and says, “Mean Girls.”

Ariadne raises a true Arthurian eyebrow at him, and Arthur allows himself to feel a small hint of pride.

“Arthur, you can’t keep avoiding talking about it,” she says quasy-wisely, her serious statement undermined by the hiccups between her words.

“Give me one movie and another wine bottle, please,” Arthur pleads, grabbing her laptop from underneath the bed and pouting at her while holding it.

“You’re being very teenagery right now, but okay,” Ariadne says, and starts up her laptop.

“Well, I might have just been dumped, so I deserve to be,” Arthur says.

Ariadne narrows her eyes at him. Arthur can see the wheels turning in her mind, but as promised she doesn’t ask, just wordlessly crawls closer to him, to watch the show from the small screen. Arthur takes a deep breath and lets himself be distracted for another little while, after which he actually will need to talk about it. He needs more alcohol.

They fall asleep halfway through the film.

 

V

There is the rapid sound of knocking on the downstairs door, so Ariadne sets the stove on low and opens the window to look down at the visitor.

It’s Eames, drenched to the bone from the rain that has just cleared up, leaning pathetically against the door.

“Are you shot?” Ariadne asks him, frowning at him.

Eames looks up. “No! Is Arthur here? I need to find Arthur.”

Ariadne sighs. “No. He’s not here. Let me open the door for you.”

She doesn’t greet him when she opens the door, just nods to the way to her apartment.

“Do you know where he is?” Eames asks as they ascend the stairs together.

Ariadne closes her door behind them, setting the security system on the right calibrations.

She does know where Arthur is, but if Arthur hid it from Eames, she sure as hell isn’t going to reveal his location.

“Why would I tell _you_ where he is?” she says instead.

“Because I made a mistake and I want to apologize and beg for him to come back to me?” Eames says with the most woeful expression ever know to mankind, like a kid that lost it’s favorite toy.

Ariadne sighs. “The two of you will be the death of me. You’re gonna talk first. I’m not going to tell you about anything until I know what you did made Arthur drink away four wine bottles with me and watch _Mean Girls_. And after that I want a contract that you will never, ever, hurt him again. Signed until death.”

“ _Mean Girls?_ ” Eames repeats wide-eyed.

Ariadne nods seriously.

“ _Fuck,”_ Eames whispers, slumping in the nearest chair.

“Yes. You hurt him, so you’re going to talk and explain to me why I shouldn’t just put you in a dream and shoot you a few times.”

“Yeah, fair,” Eames says, “Will you call him and put in a word good for me? After? He doesn’t pick up my calls.”

“You probably deserve that, and good words depends on what you tell me,” Ariadne says. “Now, come help me make this pasta, if all you’re gonna do is sit there and pout. I’m not Arthur, I don’t fall for that shit.”

Eames smiles, for the first time since he’s got here. Ariadne realises that has been the longest time she’s ever seen him without some sort of smirk on his face. Huh. He really is feeling shit about it. Good.

\--

_Arthur, call me back when you get this. I have a crying Eames on my couch who is very sorry for being an asshole. He didn’t bribe me to say this. Or at least not much. He did promise to get me two chocolate cakes. Does that count? Anyway._

A sigh.

 _He made a mistake, a big one, he hurt you by running away instead of talking about it. But you’ve got to be fair that you didn’t either, the talking thing. God Arthur, you two had something good,_ have _something good, don’t let his or your own stupid fear ruin it for the both of you, okay?_

_Look, he shouldn’t have made that decision for you, but he knows that now, I got that into his brain, and you’ll have a chance yourself to lecture him too, if you give him one. Besides, he couldn’t even last a month without you. I guess you’re both equally pathetic about each other, oh happy day._

_I think he learned from running away like an idiot, like that it was idiotic. And he’s sorry he hurt you. He’s really sorry. I’m gonna have to buy more wine again. You two owe me a lot of wine._

_I’m giving the phone to him now, please don’t throw your phone down the toilet. I just got you those new apps. Watch out, he’s pretty drunk._

_…_

_Darling, I’m so sorry._

_I’m just–_

_God._

_I didn’t mean to hurt you, I didn’t think it would–_

_No. No, okay. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have run away from you._

_If you give me another chance, love. I won’t waste it. I really won’t._

 

 

VI

Eames groans when someone turns on the light abruptly. He expects evil laughter to erupt from the other side of the room, but no witch-like cackles sound. Arthur grumbles besides him and buries his face in his pillow. Eames smiles; he might have been rudely awakened, but this is a sight he has missed for what felt like eternity. He will awake at atrocious times every morning to enjoy this sight: Arthur asleep in his bed, _their bed_.

Eames plans on keeping him there for the rest of their lives.

Arthur opens his eyes and instantly a smile grows on his face when he notices Eames staring at him. Eames’ breath catches at the sight.

“Hey, you,” Arthur whispers. He sounds so _happy_ , it makes Eames way too overrun with emotion so early in the morning.

“I love you,” Eames blurts. It was that or the happy crying. He’s not sure what would’ve been worse, but Arthur’s smile brightens anyway.

Arthur reaches over to caress Eames’ jaw in response, and Eames sighs into his hand, kissing it.

Arthur’s eyes crinkle when he smiles, dimples on full display. It’s the most beautiful thing Eames’s had the pleasure of seeing.

Eames is just about to lean over to kiss that smile when a cough interrupts them. They turn to look at the sound.

“I see you two made up?” Ariadne says, standing in the doorframe with her arms crossed, smirking smugly at them like she was the one that solved the mess they were in. To be fair, she mostly did.

Arthur throws his pillow at her which she dodges skillfully, cackling like the true evil she is.

Eames follows suit and throws his pillow square at her face. “Why did you intrude upon us at this hour?”

“Well, sir and sir. We have a situation,” Ariadne replies.

Eames feels Arthur tense next to him, slipping into business mode like a flick of a switch.

Eames would’ve mourned the loss of sleepy soft Arthur if he hadn’t known that he will have many days and nights with him. And if it weren’t for the fact that pointman Arthur is a sight to behold, too.

Arthur slips out of bed, walking like he’s wearing a bespoke suit instead of only boxer briefs. His naked back muscled and absolutely covered in British-made bruises and bites.

Eames sighs and does mourn that he can’t pull Arthur back into bed and ravish the hell out of him. Because _situations_ go before sex. It’s an extremely unfair given of their lives, but Eames has learned to live with it, grudgingly.

Ariadne didn’t seem all too hasty just now, so Eames dresses without much hurry, letting the other two work through the preliminaries of the situation. He’ll catch up later, preferably when a solution is already on the table. Thinking and planning this early in the morning is not something he excels at.

So he walks into their kitchen, steals Arthur’s coffee – who’s so focused on whatever he’s doing with his laptop, he doesn’t even notice the theft – and raises an eyebrow at Ariadne in a non-verbal question.

“Remember the extractor from the Shanghai job?” Ariadne starts.

“Idiot,” Arthur interjects.

Eames nods in agreement and sips his illegitimate coffee.

“Well, he just sold us out,” Ariadne sighs, “We have hits out on us in two states and three countries. There is no direct danger yet, but we can’t have real japanese sushi _ever_ if we don’t fix it and I personally am not in favour of that.”

“And why did we need a rude awakening for this?” Eames asks, frowning at Ariadne.

She shrugs carelessly. “Payback.”

Arthur looks up at Eames, all bright eyes and amusement. “She has a point.”

Eames smiles back. “That she does.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'ed by the amazing Nonnie and cheerread by the great Jambees ([Who just started her first fic with oceaxe, go read!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10910469/chapters/24259419)) 
> 
> After finals I'll finally have the time to put bigger works up. I, at least, am exited for that. Hope I'll see you guys around for that too!


End file.
